


Love

by Dainslaif



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:35:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26557483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dainslaif/pseuds/Dainslaif
Summary: A series of short vignettes I've been writing over the years; some will be sweet, some will be explicit, some fall somewhere in between. WIP.
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke
Kudos: 4





	Love

Hawke was a strange person, this Fenris knew. Their friendship felt more like a series of battles than an easy time; not like how he treated Merrill with gentleness, or the animated discussions with Anders, the series of pranks and schemes with Varric and Isabela, or the long talks with Aveline. No, the way Hawke treated Fenris was different. Not cold, but almost as if Hawke did not know how to treat Fenris. 

Conflicted. That was the word.

When confronting slavers Hawke would kill them without so much as a word. Any that dared to say a word to Fenris would be slaughtered faster than the rest. He almost felt bad for some of them. Almost. The best way Fenris could describe it was Hawke was action-oriented when it came to how he treated Fenris and all Hawke could do to convey any sense of kinship was through death. It would have been romantic if not so worrisome.

Did all Hawke see in him was death? 

Fenris could not really blame him if he did. Revenge was near always at the bitter forefront of his mind; revenge for the way he had been treated by mages and the experiments performed on him. Hawke, perhaps, fed off that rage. Maybe he was just very empathic. He was naturally combative with Hawke due to the circumstances of his birth and Hawke was always combative in kind despite his generally easy-going nature. Sometimes it was as if he said things purposely to rile Fenris up. It was a curiosity for Fenris to be sure.

But did Fenris hate him for it?

Hate was certainly not the right word. He hated Danarius. He hated Tevinter. He hated slavers. With Hawke, it was a different emotion, but a beast equally as strong.

What did Hawke want to do with him? If he wanted to do anything at all.

“Torturing yourself up here in your ivory tower?”

Fenris blinked from his stupor and tore his eyes from the fire danced before him. “Hawke?” He sounded more tired than he thought he would. Or perhaps sullener.

“No need to get up, Fenris. I just came by when I saw the fire in the window.” Hawke took a seat beside him at the fire and gestured to the window which Fenris blearily eyed.

“Ah, I see. Do you often peep through my window?” 

Hawke seemed amused. “Only since we have become neighbors.” He became a bit more serious and adjusts himself to look Fenris in the eye. “I worry about you, you know. I think of you as a friend.”

“I am a friend now, am I? We can barely get through a conversation without yelling at each other or blaming one another for whatever we have gotten ourselves into.”

“Of course, I do. I treasure your opinions even if I do not say it often enough,” he paused and looked away almost in shame. “I do not know what to say to you half the time, and the other half I fear I,” he trailed off again at a loss for words.

Fenris broke the silence with a heavy sigh and said, quite plainly, “I find you handsome, you know.” 

That seemed to catch the mage’s attention. “You think I am handsome? Me?” he grinned in such a way that made Fenris’s stomach flip.

“Most humans all look alike, but something about the beard,” the elf huffed in embarrassment.

“Ah! I should not think about shaving it off then, because I was thinking about going clean-shaven,” he continued to tease while stroking his nice, thick beard. 

Fenris simply wanted to punch him, if to just get him to quit. Though he knew deep down he enjoyed the banter. “You could be serious for a moment. I think this is a serious conversation that we should have had a year ago.”

Hawke’s face fell and a wave of shame washed over him again. “I agree, it is,” he swallowed, “important to talk about.”

“If you are uninterested beyond flirtation, Hawke—” 

“I do not know how to be attracted to someone with so much trauma,” Hawke blurted. The shame made sense, Fenris finally realized. Hawke was ashamed for feeling attraction to someone so broken. He could not be blamed.

“I am not a fragile flower, Hawke. You would not use and abuse me as others would.” The honesty in his words spooked Fenris a bit, but he did not regret them.

“I would not abuse you at all, Fenris.” Hawke seemed very keen to get that point across. “And I am not avoiding a relationship with you because I think you are fragile. I am avoiding one because I do not need to be a regret. I do not want you to wake up one day thinking you have run from one megalomaniacal mage to another.”

Fenris gave a grim chuckle at that. “So, you think you are a megalomaniac?” 

“A bit,” the mage answered honestly. “I am quick-tempered when I am right, I do not let anyone deter me even when I know what I am doing could backfire horrendously—"

“I am going to stop you there. Someone with an ego too big for his head would not list these things off as some kind of fault. More importantly, I would not dare consider you on par with Danarius. Even if I wanted I never could. Yes, you are all those things and a pain in the ass but,” he smiled, a true and honest smile, and ran his fingers through Hawke’s hair. “You care. I love that about you.”

“Love?” Hawke echoed. Now he seemed to be the one distant and Fenris could feel his heart leap to his throat.

It was a sudden admission. Fenris swallowed his pride and breathed heavily through his nose, swelled his chest up with courage to breathe out, in a sort, sharp huff, “Yes.”

Hawke wrapped his hands around Fenris’s wrists, the latter fought the urge to rip them from the former out of fear. Now was the time for something far greater than self-preservation. Hope, trust… Love.

Soft kisses were peppered onto Fenris’s fingers with an unexpected gentleness and the elf could not help but brace for a letdown. His hands were turned, and, with the same gentleness, his palms were kissed and his wrists. He stopped and their eyes locked. “I love you too.” Hawke finally replied, almost completely breathless.

They each moved a bit closer towards one another, each unsure but with the electricity of excitement. When their lips finally touched the uncertainty vanished in an instant. When they pulled apart Hawke rested his head against Fenris’s.

No letdown ever came. All there was left was love.

“I should have done that ages ago.” He still sounded breathless, and it was simply the best sound in the world to Fenris.

“You do like to show your feelings,” Fenris remarked, lips turned upward into a smirk.

Hawke spattered gentle kisses along Fenris’s cheek and nose. Fenris could scarcely believe the level of tenderness on display—normally it felt reserved for Merrill, but strangely appropriate for him as a lover. 

It fit them.


End file.
